Mama
by Ghiralee15
Summary: Leslie Withers is the start of The Evil Within. This is the story of Leslie Withers, and his adoptive mother, Sheila Eindhoven. Rated T for blood and violence.
1. Chapter 1

Leslie Withers had always been a healthy little boy. Since the day he was born, he was always a bundle of joy and laughter. He was admired by anyone who met him. He was albino, but everyone who he met seemed to look past that and really get to know him. He never was the morbid and crazy boy that many people had seen him to be. They made him out to be a careless troublemaker, when really he wasn't. He did what ever he needed to fend for himself. The world was never nice to him, especially what happened to him at such a young age.

He was walking home from the bus stop after a day at school. He was still in 2nd grade, and his brother was supposed to walk him home from there, because he gets out earlier from middle school. He was most likely knocked out asleep on the couch, head buried in homework. He walked through the small woods to get to his house. He loved taking this path to get both to and from the bus stop. The tall trees, the wild flowers, and the occasional deer or buck prancing along. He was more than captivated by it, but then the peaceful silence had been broken and he heard a loud pop. He could only assume that it was the high school boys next door firing their BB guns at the birds again, and he didn't need any part in that. He continued to walk home and continued to hear those pops that now started to sound like bangs. He started to get a tad bit nervous at that point, because he could see flashing lights in his own house after each bang. He ran inside his house, the door being left open, and seeing nothing but red. Red flooded all throughout the house. There were pools upon pools of the metallic smelling substance. He heard one last bang, which made him fall to the floor in shock. The sound rang through his ears and made him shake. He ran for the stairs, the source of the sound. His father was standing in front of his mother, her body lifeless. He gasped in disbelief. That wasn't his mother on the floor. He kept repeating that over and over again. His father wasn't a murderer, was he? This had to be a dream. He was still asleep somewhere. He was still on the bus asleep, or in class asleep. He wasn't home! It couldn't be real. But there he was, and it was real. His father looked at him and pointed the gun at him.

"Dad, what are you doing?!" He was speechless at that point, watching his father. He looked up to his father, he wanted to be just like him, and yet here he is, his wife in front of him, _dead._

"This is all your fault. And you know it." His finger was ready to pull the trigger, but it didn't. Instead, it changed targets and pulled it on himself. Leslie screamed as the blood splattered and some found it's way on his face. His brother was nowhere to be found, where was he when he needed him the most? Their parents were dead, and there was no way to fix it. He collapsed on the ground and curled up into a ball.

"It's not my fault... Not my fault... Not my fault..." He whispered it over and over as his tears seeped into the carpet. He heard knocking at the front door, but he could care less about that. His parents were right there in front of him, the life escaped from their bodies, and never to return. The knocking at the door started to get a little bit more ferocious and he sobbed only louder. The door opened with a loud bang, and he heard footsteps ascending the stairs. He already knew that they were the police. There was no way that those gunshots wouldn't have reached someone or another with how close the houses were. The police saw him on the floor, and all of the blood splattered around the house. They automatically thought that he had done it, but he was just a little boy, what reason would he have to kill his own family?

"Little boy, what happened here?" One officer asked.

"Not my fault... Not my fault... Not my fault..." He didn't stop saying it. The officer bent down and picked him up from off the ground and carried him outside to where he could only see flashing blue and white lights outside his house. He was set inside a car and was taken to the police office.

That was years ago. That trauma followed him until he was 11 years old. He had nightmares and hallucinations that his father was still right there in front of him, the gun pointed at his head. After the police pieced together what had happened, they moved Leslie to an orphanage, where he only stayed there for a couple of weeks until the headmistress had figured out that Leslie was suffering from his psychosomatic trauma. She called as many hospitals and hospices as possible, but none would take him in. But, one afternoon, a man named Valerio Jimenez called about Leslie and offered to take him in his hospice and hopefully, get him back to his normal self. He had claimed multiple times that he had done it before, but it wasn't justified. She didn't want Leslie to suffer anymore in the home. Valerio was sure to take good care of him.


	2. Chapter 2

It was early morning and Leslie was lurking about the hospice. Valerio was still sound asleep, but Leslie's insomnia kept hm up for hours at a time Sometimes, leaving him without sleep for weeks. There was a red light flooding into the room, it was the earliest of sunlight. Leslie quickly hopped back into his bed, knowing that Valerio would wake up any minute now to fix his coffee and wake him up. So he waited... Waited... and waited, but he didn't hear him stirring. He hopped out of the bed and opened the door and peered down the hallway. He saw a figure standing there, facing the wall, a gun in his hand. It wasn't Valerio... He tiptoed closer to the figure there. Dark hair, slim figure, and dirt all over was the best description. He heard it breathing... It was almost labored Suddenly that sound of breathing hitched. It turned around and looked Leslie dead in the eye.

"It's your fault..." he already knew who it was, and he didn't even want to remember who. His father was staring straight back at him.

"No!" He screamed, falling to his knees and covering his ears. The mantra just continued in his head, his ears ringing and at the verge of bleeding. Suddenly he felt this sense of euphoria, the voice had stopped and all he heard was blissful silence. He looked up to the figure and saw the gun pointing at his face. He pulled the trigger, and-

He woke up with a gasp and more than a couple of ounces of sweat on his face and body. Valerio was standing there, with his morning coffee, just now coming into the room to wake him up.

"Why, good morning Leslie." He stepped in the room instead of awkwardly standing in the doorway. He carried his vial of medication i his left hand, as he always did, to crush up and put in Leslie's breakfast. Leslie shuddered and stood from his dusty bed and allowed Valerio to do the morning ritual of checking his eyes and skin for any malignancies. He, in all honesty, was feeling more than a bit sick to the stomach, yet he couldn't express that in an appropriate fashion. "Any pain today?" He felt his bony ribs and patted down his legs, both more often than not, covered in bruises. He shook his head no Valerio fixed the little boy's disheveled hair and allowed him to get dressed. He almost forgot he's being transferred to the Beacon Hill hospital today. He was to see the one man who was going to somehow get his brain from whatever it was now, back to 'normal', if not somewhat sane. He slid on the jeans and t-shirt he loved the most and at down at the table to eat the meal Valerio had prepared. Very fatty bacon, toast, half of a grapefruit and some eggs. He picked at the eggs, hoping to get rid of this stomachache and get some much-needed protein in his system. "Are you excited for today Leslie?" Valerio asked before sipping his coffee.

"Y-yes. Can Leslie... get better?" Valerio placed his fork down on his plate and put his rough hand over his mouth. He couldn't answer that honestly. There was no way that child was getting any better, He had already gone into relapse twice in less than three weeks. He had to do the one thing he knew would hurt the least, but still hurt enough.

"We'll see, Leslie." Leslie giggled,like the young boy he is and clapped his hands. Valerio couldn't help but to smile at the little boy and continue to eat his breakfast in silence.

After breakfast had ended, Valerio and Leslie filed into the black Mercedes and they drove to the Beacon Hill. Although the way they were dressed made them stick out like a sore thumb, no one seemed to pay any mind. They parked right at the front and saw a line of old pale smiles. Leslie scanned each and every one of them, each wrinkle burned into his brain. Then there was one that stuck out the most. It wasn't old, there was some youth behind it. But it was cauterized. Black and dead skin there on his face, just there underneath the small amounts of bandages that were tightly wound around his face. He wasn't smiling like the others The two stepped out of the car and stood in front of the smiling people.

"Ahh, Valerio." The burned man extended his hand out to the fat man and shook it firmly.  
"Ruben, you look well." They exchanged a few more words before directing their full attention to the little pale boy cowering behind Valerio.

"And this must be our little Leslie." He approached the pale boy and pinched his cheeks. Leslie tried to turn his head away, but a firm grip on his cheek prevented the action. Ruben gave a small smile at the gesture and let the young boy go. He remembered when he had such fair skin like him... But that was a million years ago. So it felt.

"He's been doing so much better after the last time we talked." Valerio placed his hand on the small boy's head and ruffled his hair up a bit. Leslie kept his head down for the duration of the conversation of the two older men. Everything in his line of vision became black, he could no longer see anyone or hear the conversation. _F-finally,_ he sighed mentally. The sweet silence was all he needed at the moment His eyes drifted to a close in sheer happiness after a minute of so of just standing there, uninvolved in the subject matter, for all he cared about. A small smile crept upon his pale cheeks. Suddenly Valerio tapped his shoulder and he snapped out of his trance.

"Don't you worry, Valerio. I'll make sure he gets the best of care during his stay. Please, we here at Beacon Hospital implore our patients' loved ones to visit once a week, if not every day."

"I'll be sure to make it at any time i can. Good day, Ruben." With that said, Valerio stepped back into the Mercedes as the staff waiting there with him waved him off. Leslie kept his eyes on the car until it was lost in the traffic of the city. When his gaze finally shifted, Ruben was standing there, a syringe raised above his head. All Leslie could feel was the sharp pain of the needle penetrating his skin and the hot sensation of the fluid spreading through his neck. Within seconds, he collected himself and tried to run away from the man. He turned on a heel and ran in the direction that Valerio's car had left in. Strong ars wrapped themselves around his neck and slowly strangled him. No life was being choked from him, but whatever he had injected was taking over by that point. The world suddenly went black and he fell limp into his captivator's arms.


End file.
